


Making Do

by firethesound



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Pining, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you can't have what you want, you make do with what you've got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Do

**Author's Note:**

> Ethos/Deimos, unrequited Deimos/Cain, background Cain/Abel. Takes place right after Ch 4, Pg 21.

“Hey, wait!”

You should’ve just ignored him, just kept on walking because what would he have done, chased you down? Timid little thing that he is, he wouldn’t have dared. But preoccupied as you are, you’re already half-turned to face him before you stop to think about it, and now that he knows you’ve heard him it’d be rude to keep walking.

Generally, you try to leave the outright rudeness to Cain, whose favorite hobby seems to be singlehandedly perpetuating every negative stereotype that exists about Colonials. He’s doing a pretty successful job of it, so far.

Ethos hesitates, nervous, and you raise an eyebrow in question. 

“Can you, uh, tell me how to get to the loading bay from here?” he asks at last, still uncertain, like he thinks you might… what? Really, what’s the worst he thinks you could do to him in a crowded corridor?

Quite a lot, actually, but he probably doesn’t know that. You know what you look like. People always underestimate you, always have and probably always will, but most of the time you like it that way. 

“Um. Well. Could you?” he presses when he doesn’t get an answer right away.

Could you…? Now it’s your turn to hesitate. Part of you wants to follow Cain. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together, to add up a missing Abel with a missing Praxis and come up with a perilous situation that needs a stop put to it right the fuck now. Cain’s always been something of a loose cannon. Barely takes a spark to set him off, and the sudden panic of his missing navigator being alone with that one-eyed bastard will set his temper off nicely. An infuriated Cain is something to behold, and you’d enjoy watching him beat the shit out of Praxis. Maybe if you’re very lucky, he’ll beat the shit out of Abel, too. 

There’s a split second of delighted wistfulness to that thought, but it quickly sours. And then what, Deimos? He’ll forget all about Abel and realize you’re his one true love, whisk you away on his white horse and take you galloping off into the sunset? You know better than that. Cain’s no white knight, and he’s already got a princess, anyhow.

You look at Ethos still standing there in the middle of the corridor, oblivious to the dirty looks fighters are giving him for blocking their way as he stares at you, waiting, all flyaway blond hair and big pleading eyes.

What the hell. It’s not like you need to see Cain get into _another_ fight. And you _really_ don’t need to see him get worked up and pushed to his limits over his little navigator. He’ll never throw down like that over you. Sometimes you can half-convince yourself it’s because he knows you don’t need his help. He knows you can take care of yourself, can hold your own against whatever life throws at you. It’s a pretty lie, all spun sugar and blown glass, the sort that won’t hold up at all to a hard rush of reality.

So you shrug and turn around, manage four steps before you realize he’s not following along. You feel another pang of longing for Cain, who can read every quirk of your eyebrows and lift of your shoulders so well that words aren’t necessary most of the time. The only time you ever have to use words for him is when it’s about Abel, and doesn’t that just stick in your throat? You glance back at Ethos and jerk your head up the hall. Come _on_.

“Oh, um. You’re going to show me the way?”

You want to roll your eyes, but you give him a nod instead. Otherwise you’ll be here all fucking day. This time when you start walking, he falls into step beside you.

“Thanks,” he says. “I, um, should probably know where it is by now.” He pauses, waiting for some sort of response that never comes. “I, uh, haven’t been on the ship all that long, just… Oh, well, you know. We transferred here at the same time, didn’t we?” Another pause. “It’s a lot different, isn’t it? And I’ve been so busy I haven’t had much chance to explore…”

He keeps up a running chatter all the way down to the loading bay, and the pauses while he waits for you to respond get smaller and smaller until he’s talking constantly. About the Colterons, about the last fight he flew in, about his duties, about what they served for breakfast this morning in the mess hall. You’re ready to throttle him halfway through your trip. You think about punching him right in the mouth. Bet he wouldn’t even flinch, bet he’d never even see it coming. You wonder if Cain’s punched anyone yet.

For fuck’s sake, Ethos is still talking, quick and nervous. Some people don’t know how to handle silence. That’s one of the reasons you like Cain so much, he doesn’t care if you don’t talk. You like to think it’s because he understands you that well. 

Ethos is still babbling so much that he doesn’t even realize he’s reached the loading bay. You twitch your elbow out, quick, give him a little nudge to the ribs to get him to shut up and look around, but he startles like you stuck him with a knife. You frown a little as you study him. Maybe he would flinch. Wouldn’t do him any good, though.

Then he blinks around him and sees where he is, gives you a big bright smile. “Thanks!” he says, stands there uncertainly like he wants to say more, but ends up nodding and wandering off without another word.

You watch him go. Think about going back to find Cain, make sure he’s okay. But it’s probably over by now, one way or the other. There’s no doubt it came to blows, and either Cain got his ass kicked and is on his way to medical, or he won the fight and then went off somewhere to work out the rest of his aggression by fucking Abel. You wonder which way it went. Praxis is bigger, with a solid advantage in both weight and height, but Cain’s not wound too tight, especially where Abel’s concerned. And when he gets his blood up, Cain fights like a dog that’s too stupid to know he’s outmatched. He’s at his most dangerous when he’s like that, both to whoever he’s fighting and to himself. He takes risks he shouldn’t, pushes too hard, won’t stay down until he physically can’t get back up.

That’s the problem with Cain. He’s all or nothing, no middle ground. He was out for blood when he went racing off, and by now he’s found it. One way or another.

There’s a momentary rush of guilt that comes burning up your throat like bile. What if he needs you?

You take a deep breath, hold it, let it go. He’s made it clear time after time that he doesn’t need you. Doesn’t want you. He’s made his choice and if it turns out that his soft little navigator can’t watch his back the way you can, well, that’s not your problem, is it?

Ethos comes back and jumps when he sees you lingering near the doorway.

“Oh!” he says, surprised. “Did you wait for me?”

Did you wait for him. You think about Cain in medical. You think about Cain fucking his pretty blond navigator. You think about Cain bloody and bruised and aroused and how he will never, ever be yours. Did you wait for Ethos. Yes… yes, you think you did. You smile and tip your head just-so to peer up at him through the dark fall of your hair. He blinks at you, equal parts surprised and baffled. A quick glance around shows no one nearby, and you give him a little smile before you back away, slipping into a shallow alcove between two large crates. It’s up to him now.

It only takes a few seconds before he follows along, the sweet little lamb. You smile again and this time it’s all teeth. He swallows and takes a step back as you step forward, and another, and another, until he’s pressed up against the steel bulkhead with nowhere left to go. You lean in, dragging in a deep breath. Cain always smells sharp, like sweat and cigarettes and sometimes like gunpowder. Ethos smells clean and warm, like soap and sleep. You wonder if this is what all navigators smell like. If this is what Cain smells on Abel. You really don’t see what’s so great about it.

Then your lips are on his and his hands are on your shoulders, and you wait to see if he’s going to pull you closer or push you away. For several long seconds, he can’t seem to decide, but then his fingers curl into the coarse cloth of your uniform jacket and he exhales softly through his nose as the tension goes out of him.

You kiss him hard and deep, forcing his mouth open and pushing your tongue against his, and he lets you. You take him by the wrists and pin his hands to the bulkhead, and he lets you. You push in close, push your hips hard against his, and he lets you. You wonder how far you could push him. Cain brags about his navigator sometimes, about how far Abel’s willing to bend over to please him. You’re not sure if you believe half of it, especially not after what happened in the mess hall the other day. Not after the way he snapped out Cain’s name and brought him to heel like a good dog. It was pathetic, the way Cain backed down from the fight just because Abel told him to. How he sat down and shut up, grumbling and glaring but still painfully obedient.

But Ethos is not Abel. Abel looks soft, but he’s all steel nerves and iron will held together with unshakable resolve. He’d have to be, to have lasted this long with Cain. It’s why he’s held Cain’s attention for so long, why Cain’s still so fascinated by this soft-looking navigator who can stand up to him without breaking. But Ethos, you think, is soft all the way through. You don’t even have to wonder if you could break him; the only question to that is _how quickly_.

You’re on your knees before you stop to think about it, glancing up at him as you yank at his fly. He looks down at you, lips parted, eyes wide, hands fisting nervous as his sides. But he doesn’t stop you. Even if he didn’t quite understand what you wanted when you lured him back here, he’s not fighting it.

It’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t fight. Not like Cain who pushes you away again and again and _again_. This is so easy and there’s something nice about that. You reward Ethos by sucking him down in one smooth swallow, no teasing, just right to the point.

He makes the most wonderfully helpless little whimpers as you suck him, so beautifully appreciative as he lets you do as you will. And then the door swooshes open and there’s voices, and Ethos clamps a hand over his own mouth. You suck harder as the voices draw near and then fade slightly, whoever’s in here with you just walked right by. His breath is coming fast and shallow as he bites back whatever noises he’s dying to make. There’s a sharp bark of laughter and the scrape of a crate against the floor, and then the voices are drawing nearer, fading away again. The door whooshes open and shut, and Ethos cries out, high and broken, as he comes.

His eyes flutter open and for an instant he looks surprised to see you kneeling there, looking back up at him. You wonder who he was imagining you were, if he wanted you to be Praxis, or maybe Abel. Probably Abel. Everyone wants Abel, what’s one more? You’re not upset. Not offended or hurt or annoyed, because it seems fitting, doesn’t it? Neither of you can have the one you want, so you’ll just make do with each other. You’re okay with that, and Ethos isn’t complaining either. 

Ethos is blushing now, tucking himself quickly away as if shy, which is ridiculous because you’ve just had your mouth there, what difference does it make if your eyes go there too? You _tsk_ as you stand up and turn to go.

And he catches you by the hand, tugs you to a stop and says, “Wait.” He frowns, chews on his bottom lip, glances at you and looks away. “Don’t you want me to, um.”

You’re more surprised than you really should be when you work out what he’s offering. Maybe you’ve been around fighters too long, where everything is take and take and take, where you take from someone else or someone else takes from you. But he’s _offering_ , because you sucked him off and it’s only fair for him to suck you off in return.

For a moment you feel bad about using him to forget, about using him as a distraction, an escape from your own thoughts. You should go. Turn around and walk away because he doesn’t deserve you and all your issues. He’s too good for you. But it’s been so long and… he’s _offering_. You tip your head to the side again, avert your eyes, and nod. Feeling oddly shy, strangely demure. But he’s offering and you really don’t know what to do with that, other than lean back against the bulkhead and let him do what he will.

He kneels carefully, eyes big, expression anxious. But his hands at your fly, undoing the button, lowering the zipper, are calm and steady. And then he gets them open and the cool air of the loading bay is such a shock that you suck in a hissing breath, and he smiles up at you and wraps his hand around your cock.

His eyes are closed again as he strokes you firmly, you thought he’d be timid about this too but he’s not and it’s getting harder to bite back your groans. He nuzzles the crease between hip and thigh, mouths lightly at the base of your cock. You touch his head gently, saying _please_ without words, and he obediently replaces his hand with his mouth, and _oh_ you’d managed to forget just how good this feels.

It’s over far too soon, feels like barely a minute’s gone by before you’re arching against the bulkhead with a gasp and a groan, your fingers tangled in his hair, your thighs trembling beneath his hands. You’ll probably be embarrassed about it later, but right now you feel far too relaxed for that, drowsy and satisfied in the best sort of way.

Ethos sits back on his heels, one hand sliding down to your knee as he rubs the other against his mouth. He won’t look at you, and you use your grip on his hair to turn his face to you. He blinks, all timid and uncertain again, and you give him a small smile, not a smirk or a leer, but one of the genuine ones that you normally reserve for Cain. He smiles back at you, and you let your fingertips brush his cheek as you drop your hand.

It only takes a minute to put yourself back together and then you’re turning to leave but he won’t move out of the way. He’s looking everywhere but at you, but you’re nothing if not patient. You wait him out.

“Will I… um, will I see you around?” He’s asking for a next time, even if he doesn’t quite say it, but you understand him. You’re good at reading between the lines. He wants this again. He wants you again. You’ve been caught up with Cain for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be wanted back. And even if he just wants you for sex, he still wants _you_ and it’s… nice.

So you lean in close again, brush your lips along the soft curve of his cheek until you reach his ear, lick him quick to make him shudder against you and he kindly obliges with a trembling little sigh. You inhale again, soap and arousal warm on his skin, and you think maybe you could get used to this, you really could, and maybe someday you’ll even forget that he should smell like cigarettes and gunpowder but doesn’t. Maybe someday you won’t want him to because Ethos is not Cain, and Ethos wants to see you again.

You whisper, “Yes.”


End file.
